If the third person is a stranger, try and find out his name."
"I'll manage that all right, Mr. Brightman. The young lady has just come
down. I'll be getting back into the lounge."
Brightman turned around to Crawshay, who was in the act of shaking the
cocktails.
"A third party," he observed.
"Interesting," Crawshay declared, "very interesting! Perhaps the
intermediary. It might possibly be Doctor Gant, though."
The detective shook his head.
"Three quarters of an hour ago," he said, "Doctor Gant went into Gatti's
for a chop. He was quite alone and in morning clothes."
Crawshay poured the amber-coloured liquid which he had been shaking into a
frosted glass, handed it to his companion and filled one for himself.
"Here's hell to Jocelyn Thew, anyway!" he exclaimed, with a note of real
feeling in his tone.
"If I thought," Brightman declared, "that drinking that toast would bring
him any nearer to it, I should become a confirmed drunkard. As it is,
sir--my congratulations! A very excellent mixture!"
He set down his glass empty and Crawshay turned away to light a cigarette.
"No," he decided, "I don't think that it would be Doctor Gant. Jocelyn Thew
has finished with him all right. He did his job well and faithfully, but he
was only a hired tool.
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